


Epikouros

by Stale_Cinnamon_Roll



Series: Mithridatism [2]
Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: 10k-centric, AU - Altered 10k Backstory, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Murphy's terrible jokes, Pre-Slash, Set during EP103
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-09-06 18:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll/pseuds/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll
Summary: Now travelling with the group, 10k tries his best to find a place amongst them. All he has to do is make himself useful and further gain their trust.He's done it before. He can do it again.There is one thing that his plan does not account for, however.Murphy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A note before we begin.  
This should go without saying but here it is, just in case: any views expressed by characters do not necesserily reflect my own.

** **

** **

_In short, it's probably too simplistic to regard Epikouroi as mercenaries. The Archaic sources, at least, suggest that an Epikouros was someone who rendered military support as a favour, and who could be expected to be given some kind of reward for his efforts. The relationship between the two parties was not simply - or at least not primarily - transactional.  
\-- Josho Brouwers_

Despite his initial hesitation, Ten Thousand is glad that he had loitered around long enough to be offered that lift by Doc. He knows that there is a certain safety to be found in numbers: having someone to guard your back while facing a horde of Zs; help scavenging resources that were then pooled and rationed. But he also knows that this only holds true if every member is working for the benefit of the group. All it takes is one person looking out for themselves… _That_ is a lot of trust to place in a stranger.

And why Ten Thousand avoids staying with groups for too long.

The most unexpected benefit, however, is companionship. After three years travelling largely solo, the kid has almost forgotten what it’s like to be surrounded by other still-living beings for extended periods of time. Not that he has too much experience in that regard, seeing as he grew up with only Pa for regular company. Even as a child he had never been the most social of creatures, preferring to avoid his uncle when the man had come to drop off Pa’s latest gun order, and keeping his distance from most of the other kids during the occasional venture into town for supplies.

This group, though. They have given him space and let him to be the one to approach them. Yet they didn’t exclude him or treat him like an idiot, and they shared their food without a second thought. He has been invited to their group discussions and Doc had even asked for his opinion. The one time that he had offered advice unsolicited – that they should avoid places of worship when navigating Philadelphia as they would have few supplies but a lot of dead – he wasn’t brushed off. Garnett had even taken it into consideration and drew up an alternate route. They’re treating Ten Thousand like he’s a stray dog they are trying to befriend. And he is fine with that. If they were too open and accepting, then they were idiots who wouldn’t last long; if they were too eager to gain his trust, then_ he_ should be the one suspicious of _them_.

As a unit, the group functions well. Each has their own role and their own skills. One person’s strengths cover another’s weaknesses. With how they trust each other so effortlessly, Ten Thousand can tell that they’ve been together for quite a while. And following her performance back at the refinery, Cassandra has quickly found her own place within the group.

Ten Thousand would be lying if he said that part of him isn’t jealous. No one could ever accept someone like him that easily.

He isn’t the only broken cog in an otherwise well-oiled machine, however. That honour also befalls Murphy. The scruffy man doesn’t fight, doesn’t forage. He just sasses and sulks, letting the others take care of everything for him. Doc had told Ten Thousand that they are on a mission, on orders to escort Murphy to a Government lab. That Murphy had survived some zombie bites and holds the key to a cure. Being bitten so many times then left for dead sure would explain his fear of Zs. Although the kid is curious at how the scruffy man had ended up immune in the first place, the fact that this mission is on orders from the Government doesn’t sit right with him. With all their shady dealings pre-apocalypse, Ten Thousand wouldn’t put it passed the Government to have started this zombie outbreak themselves…

As for Murphy, being considered an ‘asset’ means that he’s not treated as a companion, but rather a prisoner. He never gets space, Warren choosing instead to roughly drag him around like luggage. He’s ignored during the discussions to plan the group’s next move, and any input he has is pointedly disregarded. This only leads to him making more snarky remarks or complaining about every little thing he can. Like an overlooked child doing anything to gain the attentions of a disinterested parent. His comments often only succeed in widening the chasm between Murphy and the group, however, as his near constant grumblings make it easy to see him as arrogant. But to Ten Thousand, the man just seems lonely.

Loneliness is something the kid knows well.

But if he plays this right, it could lead to his advantage: if Ten Thousand decides to stay with the group for a little longer than he usually would, then befriending the scruffy man could help justify his continued presence. By drawing Murphy’s attention towards himself, Ten Thousand could allow the rest of the group to function more efficiently without the man’s distracting tirades. Like a nanny or a babysitter. No, that doesn’t feel right to the kid. But he’s hesitant to aim for anything more personal, as he doesn’t want to get attached to the man. Forming attachments to people only makes his inevitable departure more… difficult. Like the others before him, Murphy will be a means to an end, not a friend.

Ten Thousand hasn’t had a friend since–

“You alright there, kid?” The question pulls him out of his own head and towards the old man sitting opposite him. Doc’s eyes, kind but concerned, drift from Ten Thousand’s face, landing instead on his chest. Glancing downwards, the kid realises that his fist is clenching onto his scarf, the knuckles a deathly white amidst pale blue. Loosening his grip, he allows his hand to fall once more into his lap. Doc still watches him, so many unasked questions swirling in his eyes.

Ten Thousand hates questions. They only draw people in closer. And he needs to keep his distance.

“Is that really the Liberty Bell?” At Mack’s words, Ten Thousand lurches up, startling Doc. The Liberty Bell? It can’t be. Their planned route wouldn’t take them passed the Liberty Bell Centre.

Slamming his door, Garnett strides towards the flatbed upon which a bell is secured. “‘_Proclaim liberty throughout all of the land and unto all the inhabitants thereof_.’ Yeah, that’s it.”

_Oh, heck. It really is!_ Jumping down off the truck and leaning next to the window that Murphy is draped out of, Ten Thousand stares on in awe. His Pa had taught him all about the Liberty Bell.

Ten Thousand flinches as Doc leans on his shoulder for balancewhiles the old man slides off the truck bed. With a small squeeze and an apologetic smile, Doc shuffles towards the Bell. “Three years of Zombie Apocalypse, you think you’ve seen everything.”

Warren’s making her own way towards the flat bed, heading for the driver’s cab instead of the Bell that everyone is gawking at. “Well, when everything went bad, they probably tried to save a little history.”

Beside him, Murphy huffs in annoyance. “Yeah, well, they should’ve known that the only thing that you can save is yourself.” At Ten Thousand’s short snort of laughter, the man just rolls his eyes before turning back towards Warren. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Studying him from the corner of his eye, Ten Thousand can’t help but smile at how the scruffy man is full of contradictions. Should Murphy truly believe that someone can only rely upon themselves, why does he allow himself to depend so heavily on the group? If his argumentative attitude is just some kind of self defence mechanism, then Ten Thousand thinking the man is lonely has been right on target.

“God bless the human race,” Doc sighs. “Ninety-nine percent of them dead. But there is still one jackass alive with a spray can.”

_Spray can?_ Pushing up off the side of the truck to see what Doc’s talking about, a snarl stops Ten Thousand in his tracks. A Z has jumped out of the driver’s cab, heading straight for Warren. Ten Thousand moves without thinking, pulling out his slingshot: killing is more than just second nature by now. It’s his reason for living. The memories of_ everything_ he has killed to ensure his own continued survival has etched the repetitive motions into every fibre of his being. It’s more than just second nature. It’s who he is. All he’ll ever be.

Only once the Z is down, its head split open and brains exposed, does he notice the tightness upon his arm. Glancing to the side, he sees fingers gripping his grey camo sleeve. Murphy. The man really _is_ scared of the Zs. Moving slowly so as to not startle the man further, Ten Thousand lays a hand over Murphy’s, rubbing gently at the bone white knuckles and tight fingers. He hopes it’s a comforting gesture. “Dead now. One thousand seventy-five.”

Murphy jerks his hand away with a scowl, rubbing at his fingers as if it would erase any trace of Ten Thousand’s soft motions. With a self-conscious clearing of his throat, the scruffy man nods at the weapon hanging loosely in the kid’s other hand. “What is that thing? A slingshot?” Raising it enough to allow a closer inspection, Ten Thousand watches the as man’s eyes narrow with curiosity. “Of course, you made a toy into a weapon. Don’t tell me you have a potato gun stashed away, too… What do you even fire from it, anyway?”

A slight frown tugs down on Ten Thousand’s lips. What’s the man going on about? Food can be scarce enough as it is without it doubling up as ammo. “Small stones. Ball bearings. Gears. Not nuts, though…”

“Why not?”

“Not accurate. Wouldn’t wanna hit the wrong target. Again”

As Murphy shoots him a wary look and leans back into the car, Ten Thousand slips the slingshot back into his pack. The man is still watching him. Thinking the kid wouldn’t notice. But he can feel the eyes lingering on his back as he walks away from the truck. And Ten Thousand smiles: getting closer to Murphy might be easier than he had first thought.

While he understands why the others are working on getting the flatbed started – Garnett said it would be better if they all rode inside instead of being exposed and out in the open – the prospect is unsettling to Ten Thousand. Sure, riding inside means cover from Zs and shelter from the elements, but it also means a harder escape. If something goes wrong, if the others turn – or turn on him – he’ll be trapped. He long ago learnt that survival means knowing who is safe to depend on. But trust is a two-way street; if he wants to receive it, he would also have to give it… If he keeps his guard up and plays it smart, conceding some ground now would allow him to regain more later.

With some time to kill and Murphy hiding in the truck, Ten Thousand decides to allow himself a small indulgence. After all, he doesn’t know if he’ll be passing this way again – might as well check out the Liberty Bell while he can. It’s strapped to a flatbed and streaked with bright red paint that forms the same strange symbol he’s seen a few times now, the first being on the fort that he’d travelled so far east to see. But, even defaced, it’s still the Liberty Bell.

Pa had taught him all about it: how it was commissioned for the anniversary of Pennsylvania’s Constitution; that it was originally named after the State House in which it was hung… Never told him how it cracked, though. Since he had first learned of it, the kid has always wanted to see the Bell. Never thought he’d actually get to, even pre-Z. Pa hated big cities: too many people; too many cameras. Tommy wouldn’t have been safe there, not with how the dense crowds would have made it so easy for the Government to hide their surveillance… But, since he has been able to see it against all odds, a celebration of some sort would be good. Rummaging into the bottom of his pack, Ten Thousand pulls out an Oreo. As it’s the last one left from the backpack that he had managed to grab a few weeks ago, he had been saving it for a special occasion. It was already stale, so waiting a little longer to savour it hadn’t been too big a deal. Now all that is left to do is pick off the little bits of fluff.

As he raises the Last Oreo to his mouth, the back of Ten Thousand’s neck prickles. He hesitates. Drops his hand. He’d felt this before: at the school where he first encountered the group; while riding in the back of the truck; when slipping away at the refinery. And it always pulls his attention to the same thing.

He casts his eyes to Murphy as the scruffy man steps up to his side.

“Never understood this countries fascination with landmarks. Just a load of pseudo patriotic bullshit.”

Why is Ten Thousand so conscious of this man? So aware of his approach; of his gaze. Hyperaware. Does Murphy feel it too? Is that how he had spotted Ten Thousand slipping away? How he seemed to know how badly the kid wanted to kill Cassandra’s stalker?

Does… Does Murphy know why Ten Thousand is travelling with his group?

“Always drilled it into our heads, too.” The scruffy man chews softly on his thumb nail before waving the hand towards the Bell. “This was one of the big ones they always harped on about. Made to celebrate the Revolution. Overthrowing the British–”

“Wasn’t.” Ten Thousand hadn’t meant to speak. He prefers to stay quiet, blend into the background. But with the quizzical look Murphy is giving him, the kid decides he might as well continue. “Made in 1751. Before the Revolutionary War.”

“What? Then why is it called the Liberty Bell? Pretty stupid name if it had nothing to do with freeing people from tyrants.”

“Renamed in the 1830’s. By Abolitionists.” Murphy is staring now, light blue eyes drilling into him. Inspecting him. Trying to pull him apart. See underneath. Ten Thousand’s gut tightens. He looks away, dropping his gaze to the Last Oreo. Absently, he picks at a speck of lint he must have missed. “Symbol of anti-slavery. Of autonomy.”

At the man’s scoff, Ten Thousand looks back up. Murphy is glaring at the Bell now, his lips curled, brows creased.

Gentle footsteps announce Cassandra’s approach before her voice does. “Ten Thousand’s right, you know.” That makes Murphy turn, his eyes pausing on Ten Thousand’s before meeting the girl’s. He looks affronted. Or annoyed. Ten Thousand decides to go with both. Cassandra raises her hands in mock defence, a smile curling her lips. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Murphy. Anyway, the kid _was_ in school more recently than you.”

“Didn’t go to school.” He knows that was a mistake as soon as the words tumble out of his mouth. They’re staring at him. Have questions. He’s always known his circumstances are… unusual. Would only draw unwanted attention. But something about Murphy makes him _want _to talk. To share. Show a little bit more of himself. If only the arrogant, scruffy man hadn’t been his best in with the group…

An engine roared to life, Garnett’s voice chiming in soon after. “Murphy! You get in here with Warren and me. Everybody else, follow in the pickup. Stay close.”

Saved by the bell.

Ten Thousand watches Murphy; sees how the man instantly deflates. This small piece of freedom over, he’s back to being just a prisoner once more. Distracting himself from the man – Ten Thousand cannot afford to be too sympathetic – the kid regards the Last Oreo. The moment may have been ruined, but the cookie _is_ mostly free of lint. Would be a shame to push it back into his pack, to let it get fluffy once more. He eagerly raises it up–

And Murphy snatches it away, shoving the whole thing in his own mouth with a grin.

Ten Thousand had been saving that. He was going to savour it, take his time. Enjoy it. It was his Last Oreo. And he loves Oreos. Had worked hard to get the pack that one was from. And Murphy had just… His _Last Oreo_…

“Oh, cheer up, Psycho-Boy. Sharing is caring!” And with that, the scruffy man saunters towards the flatbed where Garnett is waiting.

Psycho? Is that really what Murphy thinks of him? Ten Thousand doesn’t pout. No, he’s just trying to soften his glare, to not let on how close the man had been. Ignoring Cassandra tugging at his arm, trying to get him to follow her to their truck, he instead trails after Murphy. The kid’s footsteps are light, falling in time with those of the Oreo Thief. As the man reaches the passenger door and climbs in, Ten Thousand leans in after him – just enough to grab the canteen that had been placed in the back seat.

“Hey!”

Staring as innocently as he could into Murphy’s eyes, he raises the canteen to his mouth and takes a large gulp. Then a second. Fighting to keep the satisfied smirk off his face, he slowly licks a trickle of water from his lips. Pale blue eyes track the motion before darkening with rage.

“That’s mine, you little shit!” Dodging back from Murphy’s grabbing hands is easy, and Ten Thousand quickly screws the cap back onto the canteen. Would be senseless to waste even a drop of water over the scruffy man’s pettiness.

“Murphy! Let it go.” Warren’s sharp call from the front seat pulls the man back from the doorway. He doesn’t stop glaring at the kid, however.

“Hey, Ten Thousand! Saved you shotgun!” Turning to see Doc waving at him from the driver’s seat of the pickup, the kid decides not to push his luck. Trying to ride with Murphy right now would only serve to antagonise the man further and he’s trying to lure the man closer, not get himself kicked to the curb. That doesn’t mean Ten Thousand has to ignore that the man is tracking his movements as he retreats, though. Throwing one last glance over his shoulder, he meets Murphy’s gaze. The man’s face is unreadable, the brows low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s quickly replaced with a scowl, however, as the door is slammed shut.

Sliding into his own seat and cradling his rifle between his knees, Ten Thousand turns the canteen over in his hands, thumbs tracing the brushed steel, cool to the touch. Behind him, Mack clears his throat. “So, what was that all about?”

Unable – or just unwilling – to meet the curious gazes of his travelling companions, Ten Thousand turns his eyes out of the window. He shifts down in his seat, getting comfortable. Maybe riding in a vehicle will be nice, for a change. “Murphy said ‘sharing is caring’.”

The ringing of Cassandra’s laughter tugs a smirk onto Ten Thousand’s lips once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 10k "eats" a twinkie.
> 
> Then, Doc and Cassandra make a bet.
> 
> Finally, Murphy threatens the kid with a good time.

Fuck, that kid is a such a little shit! Why Ten Thousand would think he could just take Murphy’s water is beyond his comprehension. While, yes, the water _is_ rationed, it’s Murphy’s survival that takes priority – _he_ is the Cure, _he_ is the Saviour of Humanity, _he_ is the reason that this rag tag band of losers had been travelling by that school where the kid was picked up from in the first place. If it wasn’t for Murphy, the little stray would still be out scavenging on his own, struggling to get by. And the kid didn’t have to look so sad, either – he was only trying to teach him a lesson. His food was out in the open, unguarded. If he didn’t want someone else to eat it, he should have been more careful.

“Enjoy. That’s the last of the food.”

_Yeah, because you let Doc keep picking up strays, Warren…_

Murphy is pretty sure that Ten Thousand doesn’t eat all of his food: he probably squirrels some away in that little bag of his. Like he had done with that Oreo. And that cookie had been stale, too – how long had the kid been holding on to it? Actually, when he thinks about it, Murphy hasn’t seen him eat all of any ration he’d been given. Granted, the man is usually too focused on his own meagre portion to watch the scrawny stray, but with how Ten Thousand is hidden beneath so many layers of clothing, Murphy is pretty sure he’s only skin and bones. Maybe he was wrong to have eaten that Oreo – the kid sure looks like he could need it…

And anyway, what was the kid even going on about, back there? _Autonomy_? How does the little psycho even know a word like that if he’s never gone to school? What, was he raised in the woods by some nut job conspiracy theorist or something? _‘Ooh, the big, scary Government men are putting chemicals in the water! If you’re not careful, they’ll take over your mind!’_ The idea is laughable, but… Well, he’s found himself in the middle of the damn Zombie Apocalypse. Stranger things have happened… And it would explain some things about the kid, anyway, like why he dresses like a gun crazy wannabe militiaman. Seriously, if he ever gets the chance, he’s is gonna get that kid some more sensible clothing. Murphy’s the Saviour of Humanity: he shouldn’t be seen with such poorly dressed bodyguards!

With his Twinkie wrapper licked clean, Murphy scrunches the plastic up before throwing it away in disgust. “God, I’m so hungry my big guts are eating my little guts.”

Beside him, Ten Thousand lets out a little snort before shifting in his perch on the side of the truck bed, turning to look at Murphy. As he twists, the kid’s knee presses lightly into the man’s thigh. He stares at the kid’s leg; at where it pushes against his own. The heat seeping through the fabric is almost… surreal. Between prison, the experiments, and now being the Saviour of Humanity, Murphy couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt a touch that is so casual. So gentle. So… comforting. No, wait, he can: back by the Liberty Bell, when Ten had killed that zombie, tried to hold his hand. Another little snort draws Murphy’s eyes upwards, and he finds himself staring at the kid’s face: the little nervous lick of his lips; the creased brow above questioning eyes; the way his head is titled slightly to the side…

_He’s like a fucking puppy._

The corner of the stray’s mouth tugs up with a slight smile as he raises the Twinkie to gently nibble upon it. Surely if he’s as hungry as the rest of the group, he’d have wolfed it down as quickly as they all had. Deciding that Ten Thousand obviously doesn’t want it as much as he does – and that it would be perfect payback for his stolen water bottle – Murphy reaches out to grab the Twinkie. “You gonna eat all of that?”

A mischievous darkness glints in the young man’s eyes as he twists again, leaning further back and just out of reach, the knee pressing harder into Murphy’s thigh. His mouth opens, tongue slightly protruding, and the Twinkie slides in whole. A few quick chews, and the cake is swallowed down. And Murphy found that he couldn’t look away. Not as the young man’s tongue cleans the few errant crumbs from the corner of his mouth, nor as a little cream is swiftly sucked off three fingers with a gentle but satisfied hum.

Murphy could not look away.

“Pay attention, people. We’re gonna head out to look for food and water.”

At Garnett’s voice, the dark weight drains from the kid’s eyes and he turns towards the group’s leader, looking once more all the little puppy longing for his master’s attention, listening attentively for orders.

Trying to bring his own attention back to Garnett, Murphy shifts reluctantly away from the kid, deciding it’ll probably be for the best to allow a small space to exist between them. “Selfish little bastard…”

With another gentle snort of laughter, Ten’s knee presses against his thigh once more.

~*~*~

Doc doesn’t mind scavenging. In fact, he relishes it. He can stretch his legs after a long drive, plus sifting through drawers and boxes gives him something to do besides reminisce about the old days. Or try to get the kid to talk. Seriously, Ten Thousand has his life story locked down like Fort Knox.

He’s had better luck with Cassandra, however, but just with more general topics. While she also keeps her past a closely guarded secret, at least she could hold her own in a conversation. At the moment, the young woman is shuffling along at his side. She’s been twitchy since they’d entered Philly but whether it is big cities she doesn’t like or this one in particular, Doc doesn’t know. He’s been watching her since they split away from the group to search for supplies. With her hands pulled into her sleeves, she nervously peers around every corner and into each building. She hasn’t seemed too scared of Zs as far as he’s seen. Well, not as scared as Murphy, that is. But with the kid taking point, eagerly scouting ahead in hopes of finding some Zs to kill, they should be fine.

Perhaps Doc could try to distract her for a bit? Some good ole conversation should put her at ease.

“Man, I miss eating whatever I want. There was this little bodega down on 5th that sold these spicy tuna rolls. Ate them once: did _not_ agree with me. But, damn, what I wouldn’t give to have one right about now.” Doc smiles over at Cassandra. “So, come on. You can eat one thing. Right now. What do ya pick?”

Turning from the alley she’s scrutinising, Cassandra finally meets Doc’s eye. “Don’t care. I’d eat anythi– almost anything, as long as I don’t starve.”

“Yeah, but say the Apocalypse ended, right now. You’re offered any food you could think of. No limits, no restrictions, nothing. What do you ask for?”

Cassandra seems to mull it over as they walk on in silence, her eyes fixed straight ahead, brows tightly knitted. She appears more relaxed, at least. No longer all jumpy. She’s even pulled her hands free of her sleeves. Doc mentally pats himself on the back. Nice to know his counselling skills haven’t gotten as stiff as his knees.

A small smile soon graces Cassandra’s face. “Twinkies.”

“What, really? We just had some.”

“Yeah, Twinkies. Maybe then we’ll know for sure.”

“…Know what?”

Cassandra turns to him, her face split with a wicked grin. “Whether or not Ten Thousand has a gag reflex.”

Geez, he had not been expecting that. Sure, the kid has some odd habits, but from what little info Doc has been able to get out of him, Ten Thousand has likely been on his own for years during the damn Apocalypse. Oddity is kind of a given. And he was just trying to annoy Murphy back there – that man is abrasive on the best of days, and he has seemed to have taken a liking to targeting the kid. If that fiasco with the Oreo and the water back at the Liberty Bell is anything to go by, then the kid can give as good as he gets. Hell, if Ten Thousand hadn’t been there distracting Murphy, it probably would have taken Mack and Garnett twice as long to fix up the flatbed, what with Murphy’s love of whining…

“Oh, come on, Doc. I know you saw it, too.”

“Yeah, well, maybe the kid just eats weird. Anyway, he seems way too naïve for that kind of thing.”

“I know what I’m talking about, Doc, and I know what I saw. Ten Thousand knew exactly what he was doing. I’d even stake half of my next meal on it.”

“Seems wrong to take advantage of such an easy bet… But who am I to say no to free food?”

As they follow Ten Thousand around a corner, a satellite catches Doc’s eye. Didn’t Garnett say they were looking for one? If this one still works, maybe Addy could use it to contact that Citizen Z guy. An overturned container is handily pushed up to the wall just below the dish and Doc manages to pull himself up with a little grunt. Gripping the satellite, Doc looks over to the kid: he’s stopped his scouting to watch. Might as well use their find to help clear up this little misunderstanding of Cassandra’s…

“Hey, kid. Give me a hand with this, will ya?”

Leaning his rifle against the side of the metal box, Ten Thousand pulls himself up with ease. Oh, what Doc wouldn’t give to be that young again… As the kid pokes uselessly at the bolts securing the dish to the pole, Doc looks over at Cassandra with a grin of his own.

“I think Addy can do something with this dish.” With a quick wink at the young woman, Doc turns to face their naïve companion. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and pick up porn.” So, how will the kid react? Enthusiastically agree? Get all shy and bashful? Either way, Doc is sure it’ll lead to him being about to get some extra food.

But Ten Thousand doesn’t even look away from the satellite dish. “Never seen porn.”

_What? That can’t be right._ Doc takes a step backwards to get a better look at the kid. “You’ve never seen porn?”

Cassandra, catching on to Doc’s game, chimes in from below. “Really? Never?”

Finally pulling his attention away from the dish, Ten Thousand turns to look up at Doc. “Before my time.”

Before his time? How old even is this kid? He would have been, what, fourteen or fifteen when the Zs first started? What fourteen-year-old hasn’t seen porn? The internet is riddled with the stuff. And some movies, too!

“Is it good?”

“Yeah!” Doc looks over at Cassandra, hoping she’ll back him up. Seeing her annoyed look, though, he starts to feel victorious. If the kid hasn’t seen porn, of course he’s too naïve to know what he did with the Twinkie.

“Guess it depends on what you watch. I mean, what would you _want_ to see? What are you into?” Cassandra clearly isn’t ready to admit defeat, not that Doc blames her. Food can be rather thin on the ground, and she’s about to lose half of what little she has. Ten Thousand turns to her, his brows furrowed, tongue licking his lips in that nervous way of his. A completely innocent gesture. “Well, what do you like? Tall women? Short? Blondes with big boobs?” She catches Doc’s eye, a little grin tugging at her lips. “…Men?”

Ten Thousand tilts his head to the side and leans back, glancing up over his shoulder at Doc. _Gosh, he looks just like a confused little puppy…_ Doc starts to regret taking the bet. This isn’t the kind of thing that they should be gossiping about, anyway. _Maybe I’ll throw the pup a bone._ “Don’t worry about it, kid. It’s like… you don’t get just one dish from the buffet table, you know. Gotta try all the food, see what’s tasty. Then you know what to fill your plate up with next time! Anyway, if we can loosen up these bolts–”

The kid lurches forward, snatching his rifle from its resting place and swinging his legs over the side of the container, perching on the edge. Lifting the rifle up and staring down the sights, he squeezes the trigger, hitting a Z right between the eyes. A Z that had been creeping up on Cassandra._ Damn, that kid’s sure got some skill. And he’s alert, too. Good thing he’s on our side._

“Thanks for the save, Ten, but don’t think you can get out of this that easy.” Cassandra grimaces at the dead Z before stepping in closer to the kid. “Everyone has some idea of what they might like before they go to the buffet. And it has everything. No limits, no restrictions, nothing. Kinda like porn. So, what would you watch first?” Placing a hand on his knee, she looks up with a friendly smile, trying to reassure him. “What do you like?”

Ten Thousand is holding onto his scarf again. His fingers twisted into the silk, the knuckles starting to go white. There is a story there, Doc knows it. But, one thing at a time. He doesn’t want to make the kid feel cornered. Ten Thousand will open up to someone when the time is right.

Hand dropping back to the rifle cradled in his lap, his fingers absently tap along the black metal. “Killing Zs.” He smiles up at Doc, all crooked and innocent. “One thousand eighty-two.”

~*~*~

Murphy is leaning against the truck, ignoring Mack’s incessant pacing, instead watching as Doc, Cassandra, and the kid approach. The old man is lugging a rusty, beaten up satellite dish. Typical – they were sent out to gather food, not this useless junk. Murphy isn’t going to go hungry just because they don’t know how to do their damn job. Maybe he should ask them to share some of their rations with him to make up for it. Can’t have the Saviour of Humanity starving to death, after all. At least the kid has managed to scrounge up some water and get it back to him without getting himself eaten. Not that Murphy is relieved to see he made it back safely or anything. Seriously. He’s not. It’s just… Ten Thousand has proven himself entertaining, is all. Sure, he may be stingy when it comes to sharing his food, but the way he switches between being a ravenous wolf and a poorly trained puppy has been interesting to watch. In fact, Murphy is surprised that the others haven’t brought it up when they discuss him. Too busy talking about that ridiculous name of his – Garnett has even taken a liking to calling the kid ‘10k’, an even more ludicrous title given under the guise of efficiency.

But regardless of what they want to name their murderous little puppy, he has kept them all waiting for too long. “It’s about time!”

Ten Thousand glances over at him and smiles. It’s a little crooked, and something dances in his eyes… But Murphy isn’t stupid enough to fall for such an obvious ploy. Stray dogs are liable to turn around and tear out your throat. Best to thoroughly train them first.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Addy?” Of course, the old man_ would_ notice that straight away. He’s always looking out for the younger members of this group. Murphy is sure that if it was up to Doc, they’d never make it to the CDC lab in California. Instead, they’d be picking up every damn stray the old man encounters only to then starve to death when they couldn’t feed all those whiny extra mouths. So much for him helping Murphy save humanity…

Now here they all are, interrogating the girl they picked up the same day as the kid. Really, they have both only been trouble. Should have left them back at the school. They wouldn’t have had that disastrous detour to the fracking refinery if it wasn’t for Cassandra. He got swarmed by Zs waiting for them! If he hadn’t have had the smarts to drive the SUV away, the damn Zs would have broken through the glass and then goodbye Saviour of Humanity: no more Cure for anyone! And the kid? He… No, he had actually proven himself sort of useful – finding that gas at the refinery had been good. And Murphy hadn’t eaten an Oreo in years, even if it that one he’d taken had been stale… But Ten Thousand is probably the reason it has taken Doc so long to get back! Distracted by something shiny, no doubt. Or looking for bones to–

Snarling pulls at Murphy’s attention and silences the arguing group.

A zombie.

It’s a damn zombie.

Heading straight for him.

No. No, he’s come too far for it to end here in some shitty little back alley in the ruins of Philadelphia. And to a Z. Please, anything but a Z. He’s already died this way. The scars on his chest; the bite marks that still ache, permanent reminders of the prison, of skin tearing apart, ribs cracking open, gnarled fingers pulling at his flesh as that bitch of a doctor runs without–

_Bang._

Blood splatters onto his shirt.

The zombie falls, a chunk missing from its head. Rotten brains spilling out onto the rotten backstreet. Eyes gaze up at him. Empty. Unseeing.

Inhuman.

“One thousand eighty-three.”

A hand squeezing his shoulder. He jerks, pulls away, tries to get out of the grip.

“Hey, hey. Murphy. It’s okay. It’s just me. Just Doc. I’m gonna need you to take a nice deep breath. Can you do that for me?”

Breathe? Yeah, Murphy can do that. He pulls in a breath, the cool air easing the burning in his lungs. _Why are they burning?_ Doesn’t matter. Each new breath douses the embers further.

“Move back, kid. Give him some space.”

Someone – Doc? – is still lightly squeezing his shoulder, gently pushing him backwards. Back into the truck. “Let’s have a sit down while we wait for Garnett to come back. It’ll be nice to rest up for a few minutes. Good to take some weight off our feet, yeah?”

Murphy lets himself be manoeuvred into a seat then leans back, pressing his head into the cushioning and closing his eyes. He hadn’t noticed how fast his heart is beating. That damn Z had taken him by surprise. Taken them all by surprise. It’s a good job that Ten is here. That Doc had picked him up. The kid has fast reflexes and a flawless aim – they have both come in handy a few times now. This group would be a few members smaller if not for him.

Maybe Murphy has been too harsh on Ten. Should give the young man a break.

Turning to look for him, Murphy finds Ten leaning against the wall of the alley, watching him: eyes dark; jaw tense. Worried? The Z is laying at his feet. Half of its head has been obliterated. That would have been Murphy if the young man wasn’t so quick. With ten thousand zombies to kill, Ten would have jumped at the chance to add one more to the count. Even if it was Murphy…

Boots block the view of the Z’s mangled head. Ten’s boots. Murphy looks up at his face. Had he meant to draw the man’s attention back towards himself? Is he trying to help Murphy in some way?

With slow movements – deliberate, calculated, yet still fluid – the young man advances towards him. Once they meet, their eyes never part: not when Ten rummages through his bag; not when he pulls a bottle loose; not even when he holds it out. “Wanna drink?”

Glancing downwards, Murphy recognises the bottle instantly. Brushed steel. With a snort, he snatches his water bottle back and waves it in the kid’s face. “I’m gonna spit in this, you know. Next time you steal it, I hope you like drinking my backwash.”

Cocking his head to the side, Ten gives Murphy a look that he can only – and rather hesitantly – describe as appraising, before the kid turns his attention back down the street. Rifle in hand, he’s a good little guard dog once more.

Unscrewing the cap, Murphy takes a sip from the bottle–

“M’sure you’ll taste fine. Had worse in my mouth.”

–and immediately spits it back in.

What the fuck is wrong with this kid? First that Twinkie and now this? Is he doing this stuff on purpose? Winding him up just to be a little shit? Fuck, does he even know what he’s saying? Wait, is the kid gay? He _can’t_ be hitting on Murphy. Maybe he’s just interpreting the kid all wrong, right?

Murphy’s wide eyes meet Doc’s equally shocked ones, searching the old man for, what? Reassurance that he had heard it, too? That Murphy isn’t going crazy and the kid had actually said that shit? Before he could figure out what to ask Doc first, the old man clears his throat in an obvious attempt to get the kid’s attention.

“So, er… What kind of things have you been putting in there, kid?”

Ten Thousand doesn’t even have the courtesy to look back at them but Murphy will swear until the day he dies – again – that he heard a smile in his voice.

“Roadkill. Kinda gritty.”

_The little shit!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That 'Twinkie Scene' is actually an adaption of the first ever bit of ZNation fic I wrote. To think that this whole story started with a friend asking if anyone had made lewd insinuations about that EP103 scene and I took it as a challenge. Think I still have the (rather NSFW) original knocking about my harddrive if anyone is interested...
> 
> Anyway, hope that you enjoyed the comic relief as the next chapter may be a bit angsty <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 10k becomes confused before making a valiant - though unsuccessful - attempt at philosophy.
> 
> Then, Murphy tells a terrible joke.
> 
> Finally, the kid decides to fall back on what he's good at: killing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up - this one gets a little dark towards the end.  
Didn't intend for this chapter to get as long as it is, so I've had to increase the total chapter count...
> 
> Edit: the end notes have been edited to add a content warning.

Ten Thousand crouches on the embankment overlooking the cultists’ compound and peers through his scope, trying to not be distracted by his success. Because he’s done it. He’s gained enough trust within the group. While Garnett had given him the task of watching his back during this exchange, it had been Warren who had given him his other objective: ‘_protect Murphy_’. And that was that – he has forged his own place within the group, been assigned a role, become one of them. As long as he doesn’t mess this up, their trust in him will only grow until he can–

Garnett approaches the fence. It’s time to work. He can plan his next steps later.

Part of Ten Thousand hopes that the exchange goes smoothly, that Addy gets out unharmed, but that darker part of him, always itching away in the back of his mind, wants nothing more than to spill blood. A lot of it. From what little he overheard of Cassandra’s confession, he thinks that the world, even ravaged as it is by Zs, would be a much better place without this cult in it. So, when Garnett gives the signal to fire, it takes all his strength to bite back a smirk as his target’s head splits open.

One less monster walks the earth.

And then he sees her. Addy. Her clothes are different, sure, and her face is painted like a doll’s, but it’s her. A knife held to her throat and looking like her skin is crawling, but otherwise she appears unharmed. Changing his focus instead to the man holding her – is this the one Cassandra had called Tobias? – there is no longer any doubt in the kid’s mind. This whole compound needs to be destroyed. Eradicated. No single trace of their existence allowed to remain.

If Ten Thousand was alone…

But he isn’t alone, is he? He’s currently travelling with a group. A group he needs to trust him. And_ they_ need _him_ to follow Garnett’s orders, to help rescue Addy… Targeting the man holding her, that smug face locked in his sights, Ten Thousand eagerly awaits Garnett’s next signal.

But it never comes.

A deal made, an exchange done, Ten Thousand slings his rifle onto his back and treks down to the dusty road. He ignores the relieved look in Doc’s eyes, striding passed the old man and hopping into the truck bed. The kid doesn’t understand – Cassandra risked so much to get away from Tobias…

_She didn’t want to be there… So why did she go back?_

“What happened, kid? Are they safe? Did they get Addy back?” Doc’s hands grip the side of the bed, his worried eyes searching Ten Thousand’s own.

“She’s safe.”

Sliding the back window open, Murphy sticks his head out. “Then what was all that gun fire about? Sounded like they all got turned into a fine pink mist.”

“50 cal. Tried to flush me out.”

Murphy hums, his eyes sweeping over Ten Thousand as if checking him for injuries. “I have to say, I’m glad that it didn’t work. Would be such a shame to lose my bodyguard so soon after getting one. Pink isn’t your colour, anyway.” And with that, Murphy pulls back into the vehicle, slamming the window shut behind him.

Rolling his eyes, Doc smiles over at Ten Thousand. “Strange way of showing it but I think Murphy was worried about you there, kid.” Running fingers through the white hairs of his beard, the old man sighs before reaching over to pat Ten Thousand’s shoulder. “I was, too, y’know. Glad you’re safe, Ten.”

The return drive back into the alleys of Philadelphia is uneventful. Some Zs pass within easy sniping distance but the kid leaves them be. He’ll have plenty more quarry further down the road. Letting a few live here and there will hardly slow him down on his way to ten thousand. And sometimes it’s best to conserve ammo – never know when it will be needed more. He’ll only have this group’s aid in scavenging bullets for a few weeks at most. After that, every last round will once again be that much more precious.

As they wait for the others to re-join them, he can hear Murphy and Doc joking back and forth, the old man trying to get Ten Thousand to join in. But the kid doesn’t care. And he knows that Doc doesn’t care, either. Not really. It’s the Apocalypse: no one cares, and those that pretend they do are simply after something.

And _everyone_ has something they were after. Even Ten Thousand.

The problems come from whether or not someone is willing to give it.

So, he tries to block the men out, tries to stay focused on his plan, tries to think of his next steps. But he can’t. Not with that little thought gnawing away at the back of his mind, overpowering the itching, demanding he pay it attention, reason this out.

Or ask.

_Cassandra…_ It just doesn’t make sense. She’d hated it there. She’d ran. She’d escaped from them. From Tobias. So why did she willingly go back? And in exchange for someone she had only just met…

“Hey. Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to ignore people? Seriously, kids these days… No manners, the lot of ‘em.”

“Leave off, Murphy. The kid’s just quiet, is all.”

“Really, Doc? _That’s_ what you’re gonna go with? Didn’t you say you were a shrink or something pre-Z? You of all people should see that this has gone beyond laconic. The kid is fast approaching ‘stoically mute’ territory, here.”

The hand nudging at his shoulder has Ten Thousand jerking away, pulling his rifle up ready to swing, but Murphy gently pushes it back into his lap. When had the man gotten so close? How had he been able to sneak up on him without being noticed?

Murphy leans even further into the truck bed, the man’s blue eyes searching out his own, trying to get a read on him. There’s something about the man’s gaze that makes the kid want to relax. To believe that the worry those eyes hold is genuine. That this handsome man, this near total stranger, on some level… could actually care.

But Ten Thousand is not naïve. He wouldn’t fall for such an obvious ploy. For a tactic he himself knows well. This is the Apocalypse and people always put their own needs first. The man before him is no exception.

_But Cassandra…_

“Keep zoning out like that and I’ll have Warren reassign you. If you can’t stay focused on your job, kid, you’re useless to me. But, as you’re the best I’m likely to get for a while, at least straighten yourself up. Any bodyguard of mine needs to _try_ and look respectable.”

Both of Murphy’s hands grab firmly onto Ten Thousand’s scarf and the man pauses. Waits. But Ten Thousand doesn’t react. Murphy hesitantly smooths blue, folding here, tucking there, gentle in his ministrations. Just like at the refinery. And the kid simply watches, absently noting how the man’s roughly chewed nails occasionally catch, snagging on the silk. When he’s finished, Murphy’s hands do not retreat. Instead, a finger curls under Ten Thousand’s chin, lifting his face back up. “What’s wrong, kid? You didn’t even bare your fangs at me.”

“Ten Thousand?” Doc’s voice is gentle.

Murphy pulls his hands away, gripping instead onto the side of the bed as the old man moves to stand beside him. They both look down over Ten Thousand. Concerned, but patient. Perhaps it’ll be okay. To open up a little. Just this once.

Ten Thousand licks at his lips. “Don’t understand…”

“Understand what, kid?” Doc leans forward slightly, his eyes encouraging.

“…Cassandra.”

“Cassandra? What about her?”

“She went back.”

For a moment, Doc’s eyes widen with surprise, but he quickly pulls them back. Back to a warm reassurance. “Back where, kid? To the cult?”

Ten Thousand glances at Murphy – the man has moved away, arms crossed – before turning back to Doc with a nod. “Traded herself. For Addy. Don’t understand why…”

“Because she’s a good person, Ten. She’s kind.”

Murphy scoffs. “Yeah, too kind. That makes her an idiot.”

Doc pinches at his nose before leaning in towards Ten Thousand, placing a reassuring hand on the kid’s shoulder. “I think… she wanted to keep Addy safe. Keep us all safe. If Garnett had broken her out, someone could have gotten hurt, yeah? And Tobias had already hunted her down once already. What would stop him from doing it again? Maybe she thought that the best way to end it, to make sure none of us got hurt, was to just… go back.”

“…But… why?”

“Because she’s human, kid. We all are. And that’s what we should do. Care about other people. Even if you don’t know them that well.”

Pulling away from Doc, Ten Thousand leans into the back of the truck, pressing his head to the window. It’s funny. He’s heard that before, what Doc said. And last time… Last time he believed it. He wants to believe it again, now, but with these last few years – the things he has seen; the things he has _done_… Eyes closed, Ten Thousand slides a hand into the blue of the scarf, soft silk pulling him back. Things weren’t anywhere near as bad pre-Z, but they weren’t completely safe, either. Pa had raised him to be cautious, yet he had allowed the hand that had grasped his wrist. He had followed down alleys without a second thought. And he had listened to – _believed_ – the words that were whispered to him.

Words that were so similar to Doc’s.

But this isn’t the same world. Every day is now even more of a struggle for survival. The dangers were no longer just lurking within the shadows but openly wandering the streets, searching for a feast. Taking whatever it is that they want by any means they desire: with brute force, the offering of lifts, giving protection…

When Cassandra traded herself for Addy, went back to the cult that she had risked so much to flee, she hadn’t gained anything. She’d only lost her freedom. And to help people she barely knows. But Cassandra’s protection is different to the kind someone like Ten Thousand can offer. He has no intentions to sacrifice himself for anyone, but he will keep the promise he made to Warren. For now.

_‘Protect Murphy’_.

He’s been stuck in his head for too long. Been slacking in his duties. Murphy had even snuck up on him. No wonder he wants the kid replaced already…

With a deep breath, Ten Thousand opens his eyes and looks around. Murphy is standing near the truck’s door, talking to Doc who is hanging out of the window. As he pulls himself to the edge of the bed and swings his legs over to perch on the side, his rifle left on the bed behind him, Ten Thousand meet Doc’s eyes with a small smile. He may not believe the old man’s words right now, but one day…

“Glad to see you back with us, kid. Had me a little worried there.”

“Seriously, Doc, you were worried over nothing. His name is ‘Ten Thousand’, for Christ’s sake. Do you really think an _existential crisis_ could take this kid out?”

“Anyway, kid, do y’know any good jokes? We were telling some to pass the time and, well…” Casting a quick glance at Murphy, Doc sighs lightly. “Some of Murphy’s jokes aren’t exactly… proper.”

“Doc, Doc, Doc. You’re just jealous I have such an extensive repertoire! Can’t help it if you have bad taste. And speaking of taste, I’ve got one I’m sure _you’ll_ love, Ten.”

Doc sighs once more, pulling back into the truck as Murphy takes a few steps towards Ten Thousand. The man looks up at him, his grin so wide it splits his face in two as he waits for the kid to respond. Ten Thousand shifts slightly to get more comfortable then nods at the man all but nestled between his knees.

“So, there is this little kid, right. And one day while playing in the garden he accidentally kills a butterfly. Scooping the little bug up into his hands, he runs over to his dad, crying. ‘_I’m sorry, daddy, but I killed a butterfly. Didn’t mean to, I swear!’_ His dad just takes the dead butterfly from him and says _‘Well, son. You know what that means? As punishment, you’re not allowed to eat butter for a week.’_

“The next day, while out in the garden once more, the kid kills a honeybee. And just like the day before, he scoops it up before going running to his dad. _‘Daddy, daddy, I killed a honeybee. Didn’t mean to, I swear!’_ And just like the day before, his dad takes the dead bee from him and says _‘Well, son. You know what that means? As punishment, you’re not allowed to eat honey for a week.’_

“Today, however, instead of going back to playing, the kid just stares at his shoes while shuffling his feet. Then he tells his dad, _‘I killed a cockroach, too.’_ His dad just laughs and pats him on the shoulder. _‘Nice try, kid!’_”

His grin now even wider, Murphy stares. Waiting. But for what? Had he finished his joke? It doesn’t make any sense. There isn’t much benefit to eating a single insect. As the silence draws on, however, the smile on the scruffy man’s face begins to fade. His brows pull down. Then he scowls. “Does no one around here have a sense of humour‽ Of all the people to be stuck with in the Apocalypse!”

“We do, Murphy.” Doc’s voice drifts over from the truck’s cab, low and languid. “It’s just… your joke wasn’t funny, man.”

Murphy turns, working his jaw, searching for a rebuttal. Before any words are found, however, Ten Thousand’s curiosity finally gets the better of him.

“Are you… eating cockroaches?”

“What?” The man is staring at him now, light blue eyes narrowed, glued to the kid’s own.

“The bacteria – you have to kill it first. Boil them.”

“_What?_ No. Oh God, no! I’m not eating– Why would I eat– That’s not even what the joke is _about_!” Murphy runs a large hand over his face, scratching at his scruffy beard. “Look, the kid didn’t wanna–”

“No! No, Murphy, stop!” Doc almost flings himself out of the truck window, his eyes wide and worried, a hand reaching out as if to pull Murphy away. “Don’t you dare, man. You don’t have to explain that one. Just… leave it be, okay?”

“Oh, come _on_, Doc, look at him! He’s a big boy. I’m sure he can handle–”

“Murphy, please, just… Let’s leave that particular piece of innocence intact, yeah? And anyway,” Doc pushes on the car door, sliding into a less precarious position, then throws a thumb over his shoulder. “Think our wait is over.”

And it is. The others are back. Walking quickly towards them, defensively crowding around Addy. With Mack’s jacket draping over her shoulders, she looks all the more comfortable now she has less skin exposed to the world. Murphy pulls away from Ten Thousand. Running a hand loosely through his hair as he does so, the scruffy man mutters under his breath: “_What innocence_?”

“Hey, we about given up on you.”

As Doc’s voice calls from the front of the truck, Murphy spins towards their approaching companions, hand falling from his hair. “I actually gave up on you about an hour ago.”

As she nears the truck, Addy pulls from Mack’s arms, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Has she been crying? Or does whatever has been used to colour around her eyes make them sting? Ten Thousand doesn’t know – he’d never thought about it before. Never thought to ask. But whether or not she’s been crying, at least she seems happier now than when the kid last saw her.

Addy gives a small laugh at Murphy’s words. “Never thought I’d be happy to see your sad ass again.”

Murphy flashes her a grin in return, similar to the one that he’d given Ten Thousand moments before. Maybe the scruffy man should share his jokes with her – she might find them funnier than Doc does. Or actually understand them…

Obviously not wanting to waste anymore daylight, Mack begins hastily pushing Addy towards the back door of the truck. “Let’s get out of here, guys. Now.”

From his perch upon the bed, Ten Thousand does what he is best at. He watches. Observes. Murphy turns to climb up into the bed next to him while Mack starts to clamber into the back seats. Doc slides back from the front window as Warren opens the door, Garnett shuffling his feet as he waits for her to get in. No second thoughts, no hesitation. They are leaving.

Only Addy remains firm, hands on her hips, staring at those she calls her friends. “Wait. What?”

Mack turns back to her with a beckoning wave. “Come on.”

“We’re not… we’re not leaving her there, are we?”

“Addy. She lied to us. It almost got you killed.”

“We can’t do that. We can’t just leave her there.”

With a shake of his head, Mack gives a small, dismissive laugh before he reaching out to grip her arms. “Come in the truck with me. We’ll talk about his when you’re safe.”

“I am not going.”

“Look, he’s right.” Garnett’s voice calls from near the front of the truck, drawing all eyes. Seems he’s chosen to try and assert his authority as their leader. Ten Thousand has yet to see how this group resolves internal disputes. Should be interesting. Could help the kid out later. “We almost all got killed going back for you.”

Murphy choses this time to saunter into the conversation. “Yeah, she’s a freakin’ cannibal and she got what she deserved.”

Addy turns to him, then, anger creeping across her face and leaking into her voice. “She did what she had to do to survive. And you of all people would have done the same.”

Perching on the side of the truck bed, Ten Thousand licks at his lips. Cassandra has endangered herself for these people. People that she does not know. People who now want to leave her behind. Leave her to her fate. Even Doc – who had said that it is human to look out for others – remains inside the truck. Silent. Ten Thousand is glad that he didn’t believe the old man’s words. But he knows who he _would_ believe them from. Addy, who has seen what the cult is like with her own eyes. Addy, who knows the things that Cassandra did in the name of survival. Things that many would find unforgiveable, inhumane. Addy… who still wants to help. Still believes that Cassandra is worth risking everything for.

Would anyone still think that Ten Thousand is worth saving?

“Come on, Addy is right!” The kid doesn’t expect Warren to speak out. To go against her leader. It’s a pleasant surprise. “We cannot leave her back there! You men don’t know what it’s like.”

Teeth gently sink into Ten Thousand’s lip, the twinge of pain almost a comfort. Almost a distraction from the pit that has opened up in his stomach. There are some things that no one deserves. No one, even cannibals.

“What is this, a chick thing now?”

At Murphy’s gratified words, Ten Thousand moves. Rifle now slung onto his back, the kid slides down from his perch before roughly shoulder barging Murphy out of the way, ignoring the grinning man’s pathetic protests. A few swift strides and he’s standing before her. Before Addy. Looking down into her eyes. She stares back, uncertain. Cautious. Their height difference isn’t too great but, with his rifle close at hand, the kid knows how can seem… imposing. Especially to someone who has seen what he can do. He hadn’t meant to try and intimidate her, but Addy is nonetheless standing firm. No signs of yielding. Good.

“Back off, kid.” Mack tugs at his arm, but Ten Thousand just shrugs him off. This is nothing to do with the blond. This is between him and Addy.

Voice soft and low, he asks his question. “She want to be there?”

A gentle shake of her head. An even softer reply. “No.”

And that is exactly what the kid wants to hear. He allows the beginnings of a smile to tug at his lips, little more than a twitch at the corners of his mouth. But Addy sees it. She relaxes. Relief trickles onto her face.

His mind made up, Ten Thousand turns to Garnett. Looks their leader in the eye. Stares him down. There will be no room for negotiation. “We’re getting her.”

A harsh bark erupts from Murphy’s mouth, the laughter crackling down the alley. A darkness swims through blue eyes, the man’s otherwise handsome features tarnished by a smirk that makes the kid’s stomach turn. “Y’know, kid, I _thought_ you were hiding something from us. Something underneath all those _layers_ you have. Don’t tell me, don’t tell me: you really a _girl_ or something?”

** _Just like a girl._ **

Tommy’s blood. It runs cold. Icy. Clogging up his veins. His arteries. His heart. The numbness. It stabs into his side. Spreads through his chest. Up into his neck. His mind. That old stench fills his nose again. Stale beer, staler sweat – suffocating. Rancid breath on his cheek – burning. Rough hand along his side – scraping.

** _Your skin. It’s so soft, so smooth. Just like a girl._ **

Pain throbs in his face. Warmth drips from his nose. The blood smeared on his hand seems to stain the white handle pink. Tommy feels nothing as he sees the fear in that man’s eyes.

And the fear now in Murphy’s.

“Ten Thousand. Stand down.”

A slow inhale pulls between dry lips. Slow exhale clearing the past from his nose. Pushing it back down. Locking it away inside. Warren has moved between them. Between himself and Murphy. _When?_ Her hand on the gun she keeps strapped to her waist. _Why?_ Her head nods downward, towards his hand. His hand clasping the white knife, its blade unfolded. _How?_ He never takes it out, not around others. Leaves it hidden. His dirty little secret. Furling the blade with long-practiced ease, Ten Thousand thrusts it back into his pocket.

“Ten…” Addy’s voice is gentle, the hand grazing his elbow even more so. But he flinches anyway. Seeing the sorry look in her eyes, the kid gives a small smile. Hopes she’ll see it as his own apology.

His fingers sink into the scarf around his neck, the light blue silk something softer to hold on to. Something more comforting. Less threatening. With slow, even steps, he moves. Gives Murphy a wide berth. Circles around to the back of the truck. Pulls himself up into the bed.

This is why the kid is usually alone. Why he is never with groups for too long. If something happens – if they find out – they never understand. Not once they know the truth. Know what he really is.

And now, his time with _this _group is almost up.

The back door slams shut, a jarring noise that drags Ten Thousand’s gaze upwards. Towards Warren. The woman is eyeing him, considering. Weighing her options. “The compound. 50 cal. How good a shot are you?”

But he can still help Cassandra. Support the group as they rescue her. Take out her captors. Actually do something good before he has to leave.

Mounting the side of the bed once more, Ten Thousand scans the area. Zs chosen, he raises the rifle and fires two shots in quick succession. The second is dead before the first hits the floor. “Good enough.”

Warren shoots him a quick smile, the relief creasing at her eyes, before turning back to Garnett.

Their attentions away, Ten Thousand cradles the rifle on his lap, trying his best to relax. Clear his head. Ease that tingling in his hands, his neck, his mind. He probably shouldn’t have taken out two Zs. One would have been enough to demonstrate his proficiency. But he finds it relaxing. The killing. The counting. “One thousand eighty-five.” Fingers brush over his pocket, dancing along the heavy weight of the knife within. A movement so second nature that he barely notices it anymore. “…and a half…”

As he slides back onto the floor of the truck bed, Ten Thousand does his best to try and ignore that familiar prickling of the hairs at the base of his skull. Now isn’t the time to let Murphy distract him. That man has caused enough of a problem. The kid needs to keep his mind clear. Focus on the task at hand.

Rescue Cassandra and make sure she’s safe for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In as spoiler-free way as possible:  
If you found 10k's reaction to Murphy's "chick thing" comment off-putting, please try and stick with the series until the end of the next story, by which time the past incident will have more details divulged, hopefully easing any concerns you may have.
> 
> Remember: this story is NOT tagged as NonCon or DubCon.


	4. Chapter  4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy dispenses some fashion advice and Doc nopes the frack out.
> 
> Next, Garnett wants the kid to open up a bit, though he doesn't like what he hears.
> 
> Then, only Murphy is able to enjoy a beautiful sunset.

Leaning back against the truck, Garnett lets out a long breath. He should have known that this would be a bad idea. Entering such a large city during an Apocalypse. He’d thought that they could handle any Zs no problem, but he hadn’t taken into account the state of any survivors. Sure, even the best laid plans turn to shit upon first contact with the enemy, but these people – this band of survivors comprised of what remains of his family, two strangers in need, and a convict… They’re depending on him. Another miscalculation like that and they may as well have stayed at Camp Blue Sky.

But they had somehow made it through, no casualties. Warren’s plan went off without a hitch. Both girls are back with them, safe and unscathed. Mostly. Last time he checked on her, Cassandra had curled up in the back seats. Addy had been close by, her legs hanging out of the doorway as she glared at the horizon. The redhead had been right. Garnett had wanted to abandon Cassandra, to put the Mission over human life. So, when she called him on it, only to be backed up by Warren and even the kid… It was a good thing that they did. It’s the Apocalypse, yes, and he has a job to do – but they reminded him of what made him help found Camp Blue Sky in the first place. No matter how bad things get, it is paramount to retain your humanity. If you lose it? Well, then there is not much point in surviving, is there? You’ll be just like a Z, causing mindless death and destruction. Suffering.

Which is why it was right to go back for Cassandra.

And why they are now waiting for 10k to return to them.

Mack stops his pacing, having worn a gentle tread in the undergrowth. “This is ridiculous. We need to go. Get as far from here as we can. They might come after us again.”

From her watchful post on the hood, Warren levels the blond with a glare. A glare Garnett has been on the receiving end of. A glare he never wants to have thrown his way again. “We couldn’t have saved _Addy_ without that boy, never mind Cassandra. We wait.”

Warren’s plan had depended on the machine gun being taken out of play, so the kid had separated to find a vantage point. Garnett had checked and double checked that 10k knew where the RVP was before letting him go, so the kid _knows_ where they are. That they are waiting for him. He’d done his job well, taking the gunner down quickly, the compound’s gas supplies following shortly after. Their biggest threat was out of commission thanks to him. And Cassandra is safe, just like he had wanted. Everyone is safe. So, they will wait for him. For as long as they are able.

Mack turns from Warren, undeterred. Brave man. “You saw what he did, Garnett. Sure, that kid helped us out a bit back there, but he’s dangerous. He could have killed Murphy. What’s to say he won’t come after the rest of us?”

Addy scoffs. “He was provoked.”

At that, all eyes shift to Murphy. The man is curled up in the corner of the truck bed, sulking. He’s been that way since they arrived at the RVP – as soon as he’d opened his mouth, Warren had swiftly shut him up. The convict understands that glare better than Mack, it seems.

The man squirms under the newfound attention. “Hey, don’t try and blame me! We’d been joking all day. How was I meant to know your new puppy would go all psycho?”

Addy tears her eyes from her boyfriend to throw a sour look towards the sulking man. “It’s called reading the room, you ass.”

“But what if he’s not coming back?” Mack had returned to pacing restlessly, hands clenched into tight fists. “We didn’t drop him off _that_ far away. He would have been back ages ago.”

Sliding forward to plant her feet firmly on the ground, Addy fixes Mack with a glare that would make Warren proud. “He’s coming back. I know he is.”

Warren shoots Garnett an expectant look from behind the redhead. Yeah, things are about to get messy. Time to intervene. “We’ll wait for him, Addy, but we can only wait for so long. We need to get as far from Philly as we can by sundown. We caused too much of a stink to bed down anywhere near here for the night.” Turning his gaze towards the direction of the compound, he scans the horizon. There are still no signs of any life, human or Z. But the sun is beginning its descent. Time is starting to run out. “An hour. That’s all we can spare. If he’s not here… well, at least we tried.”

Doc is the first to spot the kid from his vigilant watch atop the truck, waving to the figure lithely making their way through the brush. The group seems to come alive again. Even Murphy has perked up from his wallowing. They had not needed the full hour, and their relief begin vibrating through the air. Relief that is short lived, content murmurs dying on their lips. They fall silent as 10k draws closer. That blue scarf is pulled up over his face – just like at the refinery. But now, the garment is marred, little red speckles peppered across the fabric. The same colour as the stains now present on the cuffs of his shirt.

Garnett just stares. The others do, too. Silent. The red of the blood worryingly contrasts with the blue of the scarf. It’s too bright. Too _fresh_.

No matter how hard he tries to force them out, all of Garnett’s words remain lodged in this throat, choking him. The blood. Red blood. With Zs, it’s dark, almost black, as the fluid coagulates within their veins… But sniping that gunner wouldn’t have put 10k in splatter range…

The kid just stares back at them, his grey eyes sliding between the members of the group, looking at each person for but a moment. Searching. Then they close off. Go blank. As if he’s resigned to a fate that he had deemed inevitable. Inescapable. 10k gives Garnett a short nod, then turns to leave.

“Well, you sure took your sweet ass time. Really cutting it close their, kid. Almost got yourself left behind. Places to be and all that.” Murphy hops down from the truck with all the grace of the living dead before pushing his way to the front of the group. “And what am I supposed to do without _you_, my personal bodyguard?” The man keeps moving, his leisurely stroll eventually coming to an end when he’s toe-to-toe with the kid. Murphy towers over him, his broad shoulders almost blocking 10k from Garnett’s view. “What have I said about appearances? If you’re working for me now, you have got to look at least _slightly_ respectable. I’m the damn Saviour of Humanity, after all!” With a sharp tug, Murphy pulls the scarf down, revealing the kid’s shocked face, black lines painted across his cheeks. With no hesitation, the convict straightens up the scarf once more before slinging an arm around 10k’s shoulders and manoeuvring him towards the truck bed. “Much better. Now, come on. We need to get out of here, find somewhere nice to rest up for the night. Somewhere I can _actually_ lay down. I am not sleeping in a damn truck again, not after the horrendous day _I’ve_ had.”

_Well, at least Murphy isn’t holding the kid’s earlier aggression against him…_

As the unlikely pair wander passed Warren, she smiles, giving the kid a mock salute. “Welcome back, Rambo.”

10k’s confused look only grows but that doesn’t come as too much of a surprise. Doc had been lamenting on how the kid hadn’t even heard of Rocky, so it’s not too much of a stretch to assume he’ll be unfamiliar with Stallone’s other works. At Murphy’s urging, 10k climbs up into the bed, plonking himself down into the space that the convict had been sulking in earlier. With an exaggerated groan, the man lowers himself into a corner on the opposite side, throwing the kid a playfully disgruntled look as he does so.

After hopping up himself, Doc smiles at 10k, his eyes crinkling with kindness. “Glad you made it back, kid.”

With his own hands tapping along the side of the bed, Garnett clears his throat, drawing the three men’s eyes towards him. “You sure you wanna ride out here, 10k? There should be room in the truck if you want it.”

With a short shake of his head, the kid licks at his lips. Garnett had noticed that little tick a few times now. Does the kid even know he does it? With a second lick, the kid tilts his head slightly to the side, curiosity ghosting across his face. “Why do you call me that?”

“What? ‘_10k’_? It’s short for ten thousand. Don’t know why, but it seems to suit you. Less of a mouthful, too.”

With a sharp smirk, Murphy decides to chime in. “I’m sure the kid is just _fine_ with a mouthful.”

Garnett tenses. What the fuck does Murphy think he’s doing? His warped humour is not helping. This is the kind of behaviour that triggered the kid’s violent reaction in the first place!

But 10k just hums. “Murphy. Mur-phy…” With a shrug, the kid turns from them, eyes scanning along the horizon. “Not much of one.”

Well, that surely isn’t the kind of reaction that Garnett had expected. The kid is usually quiet, and he had assumed that most of Murphy’s ‘jokes’ simply go over his head. Murphy gives a bark of laughter, his grin widening as a slight smile creeps its way onto the kid’s face.

It’s probably a good thing that Doc had yet to take a seat on the truck bed as the old man now slides back down to the ground with a beleaguered sigh. Making his way towards the front doors, Doc pats Garnett on the shoulders as he passes by. “Yeah, I know. Been listening to these two go at each other all day. Think it’s someone else’s turn now, so... Good luck with that, Sergeant!” With the least sincere thumbs up Garnett has ever witnessed, Doc disappears into the front seats.

Well, with no room left inside the truck, Garnett has no choice but to climb into the bed. It’s probably for the best, too – someone had to make sure that Murphy’s mouth doesn’t inadvertently get him killed. The man is the Mission, after all.

Once he is seated firmly in place, Garnett reaches a hand over his head to rap against the back window. And with that, they’re off once more, Warren driving them back to their originally planned route through the city. The streets creep back around them and he watches as they roll by, trying to commit as much to memory as he can. It’s doubtful he’ll see it again, the City of Brotherly Love. Not that it had been very loving to them…

From the corner of his eye, Garnett can see the frequent looks that the kid has been throwing his way. After one lingers for longer than the others, he decides to finally meet the kid’s questioning glance, inviting him to share what’s on his mind.

“Doc called you Sergeant.”

Now, Garnett is surprised. So is Murphy, if the narrowed eyes the man has fixed upon the kid are anything to go by… This is the first time that 10k has openly shown interest in or enquired about any member of the group. Maybe he’s starting to feel safe enough to relax. And relaxed enough to open up a little more. The kid obviously has some… issues. Sure, this is the Apocalypse, so everyone has their own traumas and problem areas, but from what Garnett has seen in the past – even with other guardsmen pre-Z – bottling it all up is never a good idea. He’s seen too many preventable tragedies unfold that way. Maybe… maybe if he lets the kid know that he can understand some of what he has gone through, that he’s always going to be ready to listen, 10k would feel safe enough to open up to him.

Garnett’s smile is soft and inviting, hoping to reassure the kid that his questions are welcome. “Sergeant Charles Garnett, Georgia National guard. Served until the Government fell. After that I helped set up Camp Blue Sky with Doc and the others, then we joined up to transport Murphy.”

“Yeah, because your camp got overrun.” Murphy’s interruption draws 10k’s attention. “And they only survived cuz I asked them for a lift. Not that they’ll ever thank me.”

A lot of good people died when that camp fell. Men, women, and children alike. All people that Garnett had come to think of as his family. And not just as surrogates for Amy and the kids… _Actual_ family. Family that he still isn’t ready to think about.

With a nod towards 10k’s battered rifle, Garnett turns back to a less sensitive topic. “Some pretty impressive shots you’ve made. Better than a lot of the guys I served with. Kind of curious about where you learned your trade.”

The kid just looks between him and the rifle, head titled once again to the side. Murphy had called the kid a ‘puppy’ and Garnett is starting to see why. It’s quite a remarkable display but the eyes are what give it away for what it really is: a façade of innocence. With another lick of his lips, 10k turns back toward the city streets, dismissing him. Garnett hopes that it’s just too personal a question… Maybe it would be safer to back track a bit for now.

“You seem like a natural, though. Maybe, in a different world – if things had gone another way – you could have signed up, yourself. I’m sure you would have had an impressive military career.”

10k turns to him then, a look of disgust smeared across his youthful face. It was only the second time that Garnett had seen the kid show any strong emotion. “I kill for me. And for survival. Not a Government.”

Murphy’s peal of laughter washes away any tension before it has the chance to build. To cause a fracture between the men in the truck bed. “Well, aren’t you just full of fun little surprises! I _really_ like this one, Garnett. Can we keep him? _Please_?”

Garnett is loath to admit it, but Murphy is right. Usually the gun-toting, camo-wearing type that he had thought 10k to be are more patriotic than most. He really has read the kid wrong, but that is not solely on him. The kid has been trying to hide some things away, concealing parts of himself under so many layers, as Murphy had put it. Garnett understands why 10k would be secretive – he’s an outsider amongst their group, outnumbered by people he has only recently met. With time, the man knows that the kid will grow to realise that he is safe with them. Will start to relax, be himself. But the cracks in his façade, the little pieces of himself that he has meted out, have only raised more questions than they could ever answer. The kid is a highly skilled shot – and knows quite a bit about history, if Murphy’s complaining after the incident back the Liberty Bell is accurate. So, if Garnett’s assumption of patriotism had been wrong, where had the kid learned to handle his rifle? With his level of skill, he has likely been shooting since pre-Z, so who taught him? And, more importantly, _why_?

Flashing a grin towards Murphy, 10k stands effortlessly, his movements almost graceful despite how the truck bounces over the remains of long dead Zs. Warren really should try harder to avoid them… Steadying himself against the roof before raising his rifle and aiming towards the Liberty Bell that is still laying abandoned in the middle of the road, the kid squeezes the trigger. The zombie he hits collapses towards the Bell, the remains of its head striking the metal with a dull thud. It isn’t the best ring to accompany their send off, but at least the kid seems to respect the monument enough to not shoot at it directly. They had caused enough damage already when it had flown from the back of the flat bed…

Garnett rubs at his eyes. He’s done with this city. Cannot wait to see the back of it. “If anybody asks, we were nowhere near that bell.”

Sitting down once more, 10k stretches, curving his back until it cracked, causing a short, pleasured grunt to escape his throat. Now draped languidly against the side of the bed, the kid goes back to watching the streets go by. “One thousand one hundred and eight.”

Now that is a larger jump in zombie kills than Garnett had expected – in the time that they had been apart, the kid had added at least another twenty kills. Sniping the gunner wouldn’t have placed him too close to compound, so the zombies that they had lured that way wouldn’t have posed a threat to him. But if the kid went off script… Well, that would start to explain the blood…

“And a half. Can’t forget that half, kid.”

Murphy’s words make little sense. Sure, that wasn’t too far from the norm for the convict but– “A half? How does that work?”

“Don’t ask me – I’m not the one counting. Well? You heard the man, _10k_. How _do _you kill half of something?”

The kid pulls his eyes away from the scenery around them, giving Garnett a hesitant glance before fixing his attention on Murphy. Pale eyes bore into the convict, sizing him up, judging. Contemplating. A hand snakes its way into clothing and comes back out with a knife. The one with a white handle that he had drawn on Murphy earlier. Dropping his gaze to his hands, 10k turns the knife over, running fingers reverently along a worn-out carving. “A few weeks in. Was alone, hadn’t eaten in days. Getting desperate, so when I saw his campfire…” The kid’s eyes briefly flicker towards them before dipping back to the knife. With a lick of his lips, he continues. “He offered to trade but I didn’t have…” Slender fingers unfurl the blade, slow and steady. Garnett had only caught a glimpse from a distance in the alley but now, up close, he couldn’t miss it. How the blade is dull, blunt, part of the tip snapped off. “He broke my nose. But I managed to grab his knife. This knife. From his… his belt. Never killed a human before. I was sloppy. He turned. Gave him mercy. It didn’t feel right, so… twenty-four and a half.”

Garnett runs a hand over his face, pressing fingers into his eyes. He knows that the kid has killed people. They all have. Sometimes, it’s a necessary evil. He himself had had to protect the Camp from bandits and thieves. From murderers. It wasn’t even surprising how unfazed 10k had been when asked if he could fire on Garnett’s command when they first approached the cult’s compound. Three years into the Apocalypse, it was bound to have happened at some point. The kid’s first human kill. But so early on? And with a knife? It is surprisingly hard to stab someone to death if you don’t know what you are doing, that Garnett knows… “Geez, kid. How old were you?”

“Fifteen.” Snapping the blade closed, 10k buries the knife once more under his many layers of clothing before lifting his gaze to Murphy. The kid eyes the man, head tilted in that imitation of innocence as he allows a silence to crowd around them. He’s searching the convict for something. Something Garnett doubts that he himself would ever be able to fathom. “He said I was… just like a girl.”

At that, Murphy grimaces. His jaw tenses as his eyes drop to the bed, a hand coming up to tug at his hair. “Look, kid, I didn’t mean–”

“You didn’t know.”

Murphy just turns away from them, hunching over as he watches the last few streets thin out and disappear.

Garnett knows that humans are capable of horrendous things. That the Apocalypse has really brought out the worst in some people. People who show their true colours when they think there is no one to hold them accountable for their actions. Actions against those they see as weaker than themselves… And that others still are desperate to survive, willing to trade anything they have to try and see just one more dawn.

The kid’s tale has raised yet another question: what has_ he _been willing to trade in order to last as long as he has?

But it also answers some questions that Garnett has had about the kid: why he looked ready to kill Travis at the Paramus Park mall; why he had been so adamant they should go after Cassandra; and why Murphy’s vulgar insinuation wound him up enough to pull a knife.

And despite it all, there is something that isn’t quite right. A missing piece, something the kid is holding back, hidden under more layers than that knife.

Regardless of what the kid has had to resort to in the name of survival, he’s with them now. And they look after their own. 10k will never have to resort to anything so desperate as long as he is choosing to travel with them, Garnett will personally make sure of it.

It’s silent in the truck bed, the city fading from view as pink begins to paint the sky. Murphy hasn’t spoken a word, something out of character for the usually snarky man. And the kid has noticed, too, judging by the frequent glances Garnett has been watching him throw the convict’s way. With a quick glance at Garnett, the kid slowly slides across the bed, reaching a hand towards Murphy.

And grabbing the bottle by the man’s feet.

The sudden movement as the kid flung himself backwards, the steel bottle raised to his lips, pulled Murphy away from wherever he had been. Narrowing his eyes at 10k, he gives a short snort. “Shoulda guessed… So, then. How do I taste?”

The kid pulles the bottle down, licking at his lips and giving Murphy a questioning look.

The man grins, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes. “I’m not in the habit of making idle threats, kid. I told you that I would spit in it, and I did. Now, tell me: _how do I taste_?”

10k just stares at the bottle in his hands, fingers tracing circles on the metal. With a shrug, he takes a second gulp before screwing the cap back into place. “Like I said. I’ve had worse.”

Leaning across the bed with an outstretched hand, Murphy graspes the bottle, his fingers brushing against the kid’s, before lowering himself back into his seat, smirking. “Yeah, I bet you have.”

Garnett only sighs. “I can see why Doc didn’t want to deal with you two.”

With a low, rumbling laugh, Murphy turns back to the road, his smile soft. Content.

Silence descends once more, though this one is more comfortable than the last. In the sky, the pinks soon begin to darken into a soft purple, but Garnett doesn’t notice. No, he is more interested in watching the kid. Hand twisted into the blue of his scarf, thumb making soft circles in the silk. The kid thinks he is being discreet, that neither of the men in the truck bed have noticed the looks he’s been firing Murphy’s way. But Garnett has noticed. Has seen something in 10k’s eyes. Something the man doesn’t know how to place. Or what to call. Whatever it is, though, it’s a look much more genuine than the kid’s attempt at innocence, that’s for sure.

Mack had been right about one thing – the kid _is_ dangerous. But dangerous to them? Garnett doesn’t believe so. At least, not in the way the blond had meant.

Murphy and 10k _should_ make an unlikely pair, but they seem to be getting along just fine. Garnett, however, is uncertain if the start of a friendship is all it is, at least on the kid’s part. This could be nothing, but it could also spell trouble. 10k getting attached could cause complications once they reach California. Once the time comes to hand the convict over to the lab.

Garnett will keep an eye on it. Make sure nothing further starts to develop. For the kid’s sake, of course. And for the Mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is much longer than originally planned. Chapters 3 and 4 were supposed to be a sinlgle chapter, but... *shrugs*
> 
> Final chapter of this part should be up next weekend.
> 
> Thanks for reading - the comments and kudos have really spurred me on!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Doc sticks his foot in his mouth while Garnett stirs the pot.
> 
> Then, both Addy and Cassandra shoot their shot.
> 
> Finally, it's time for 10k to make up his mind.

The campfire crackles, little wisps of ember floating off into the dark. A small metal pot is hanging over the flames, the potato stew just beginning to bubble. Ten Thousand had found the cans of food while he was off galivanting around Upper Darby. When they found this little clearing and Garnett announced that it was far enough from the main road for a fire to not draw any attention, Doc had started salivating before the cans had even been pried open. There wouldn’t have been much food left in the area thanks to Black Summer, so the kid must have been a natural at hunting. Not that potatoes are known for their evasive capabilities! Gathering supplies is a legitimate reason for Ten Thousand’s delayed return, though, and Doc finds it much more palatable than the alternative…

At first, Warren had been reluctant to stop, wanting to keep driving through the night, getting as much distance between them and Philly as possible. But Cassandra had pressed on, insisting that they were far enough away. That they would be safe. Mack had objected, of course, citing concerns about that Tobias guy coming after Addy again, but Warren eventually pulled over to consult with Garnett. The Sergeant had agreed with Cassandra, and his say was final.

This is nice, though, with everyone sitting around the campfire. Really nice. Kinda cosy, even. It almost feels like they are just a group of close friends on a camping trip. The only thing that could have made it more like the good ole days would be some nice, gooey s’mores for the kids. Maybe a joint or two for him and the other adults to pass around!

Garnett stirs the stew, his spoon scraping the scalding juices from the sides of the pot. “Seems like it’s heated through. Everyone gets two spoonsful. Whatever’s left, we’ll reheat and share in the morning.”

After patiently waiting his turn, Doc giddily scoops out his portion and inhales the hearty aroma. Sure, the stock has soured slightly – the cans had only been a year or so out of date! – but it’s hot food that he’s sharing with friends. And any meal is guaranteed to taste so much more delicious when eaten with those you care about.

Moving back to allow Ten Thousand to grab his own meal, Doc watches as the kid dollops a single spoonful into his mess tin before retreating to his seat. He’s sitting further out than the others, like the kid thinks that he doesn’t quite belong. Which is utter nonsense. Ten Thousand has done more than enough to prove himself. Addy and Cassandra’s presence attests to that. But, meeting new people can be tiring, especially for those who are more introverted. Despite this, the old man is sure that the kid will feel safe amongst them soon.

It seems that Warren has noticed the paltry meal, too. “Only a half portion, 10k? You’ll do best to eat when you can. To keep your strength up. Don’t know when our next meal will be.”

“Oh, leave off the kid, Warren. If he’s old enough to lug that ridiculous gun around, then he’s old enough to decide what he puts in his mouth.” And there is Murphy, being as crass as usual. Maybe the man isn’t as self-centred as Doc had originally assumed – he seems pretty quick to stick up for Ten Thousand, even if he goes about in an… odd way. Murphy snatches the spoon from the bubbling pot, adding another large scoop to his own bowl. “But it _would_ be a mighty shame to let his food go to waste, and I have got to make it _all the way_ to California.”

Not willing to listen to Warren chew Murphy out again – all the shouting would only ruin his mellow mood, after all – Doc grabs his dish and moves closer to Ten Thousand, leaving a comfortable half foot between himself and the kid. It isn’t as warm over here, sure, but the bitching back and forth is a lot quieter, easier to block out. Lowering himself to the floor, Doc watches the kid: his eyes have widened slightly in shock, but he quickly closes off his face, allowing it fall blank once more.

“You not getting lonely out here by yourself, kid? I, for one, always appreciate some company. Especially with a meal! Good for the soul, you know.” Doc tries to reassure Ten Thousand, flashing a warm smile. He wants the kid to know that he isn’t a threat. “Not sure I can eat all this food, though. Totally forgotten how filling potatoes can be. Seems like it’s been years since I’ve eaten any!” Leaning in closer, Doc scoops up some of his potatoes before going to plop them into the kid’s tin.

But Ten Thousand digs the heels of his boots into the soil, kicking his legs straight to pitch himself away from the old man, tin cradled defensively against his chest. Eyes downcast, Ten Thousand wolfs down the last of his food before scrambling to his feet. Shoving his now empty tin into his bag, the kid grabs his rifle and heads towards the treeline.

“And where do you think you’re going, young man?” Warren’s commanding tone slices through the night air.

The kid never turns back to them; his voice is flat as it drifts over before he disappears into the dark. “Perimeter check.”

The old man just stares down at his bowl. W-what happened? What did he do wrong? He’d only offered the kid some food. A little company. Doc had thought that Ten Thousand is just too shy and awkward to sit closer to the whole group, that he’d be more comfortable with just him. The old man had only been trying to help but, somehow, it seems that he had made it worse…

The crunching of dry grass makes Doc lift his head. Garnett has walked over. is easing himself into the space that Ten Thousand had previously occupied. Placing his own bowl into his lap, the Sergeant sighs before meeting the old man’s eye.

“Listen, Doc. We need to talk about the kid. About 10k.” Garnett’s voice is low as he stirs his food, poking at a particularly large chunk of potato. Breaking it apart. “He’s said some worrying things to us. To Murphy and me.”

At this, the old man glances over towards the campfire, meeting Murphy’s eyes. He looks irritated, almost angry, greeting his gaze with a harsh scowl. Now, if looks could kill, Doc is pretty sure he wouldn’t even turn… Bringing his attention back to Garnett, the old man swallows thickly. “What kind of things? Like, is he… Is he in trouble?”

“No, nothing like that, Doc. It’s just… You know what it can be like out there. What some people are capable of. He was a kid, and on his own: it shouldn’t be too surprising that some lowlife would try and take advantage of that. To offer him a trade, food for a favour.”

“Garnett… You don’t mean…?”

“I can’t be sure, but… Doc, I think he may have said yes.”

~*~*~

Addy sighs, pulling the arms tighter around her. Mack’s breath tickles as he nuzzles into her hair. He’s warm. Warm in a way that will always be more enjoyable than the fire in front of them. Warm in a way that only another human can be. With her stomach full and her boyfriend wrapped around her, Addy could almost pretend that they were safe…

“You two better be using protection. After seeing what that freaky undead baby did to Hammond, I do _not_ want to be dealing with another one any time soon, let me tell you.”

Murphy. He always finds a way to spoil everything, doesn’t he? Always has to open that big, dumb mouth of his and make it all about himself. Cannot let anyone have just _one_ moment of peace and quiet. As much as Addy wants to ignore him, to let his irritating comments slide, she knows without a doubt that, one day, he’ll take it too far and end up eating her fist. Hopefully that day isn’t too far away – smacking that snarky asshole sounds like it would be _so_ cathartic. “Not everyone is as ‘happy go lucky and damn the consequences’ as you are, Murphy. If anyone here is gonna make a mistake _that_ big, my money would be on you.”

“And that would be a losing bet. A kid would just cramp my fast-paced lifestyle as the Saviour. Anyway, if I had to place odds, I know _exactly_ who the favourite would be.” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, Murphy nods behind her.

Turning to look, Addy sees Ten Thousand making his way into the clearing, rifle slung across his back. The kid spares a glance at Doc and Garnett, the older of the two men watching him hopefully as he approaches. But he doesn’t stop, stooping to grab his bag as he passes before reaching the campfire and taking a seat on the ground. Legs splayed out in front of him, Ten Thousand is much closer to them than he was before. Still at an unsociable distance, though. Doesn’t even greet them, instead just staring into the flames.

Ten Thousand is a strange one, to be sure. He’s kept largely to himself, so far, despite the best efforts of Doc and Garnett to bring him out of his shell. It’s not arrogance that keeps him quiet, more a lack of social skills than anything else. And that counting? It _can’t_ be good for his psyche. To be so focused on death that he’s named himself after his kill target. It’s… troubling, to say the least. Doc had mentioned that Ten Thousand intends to change his name once he has met his target, but as to what the old man wouldn’t say. He’d just smiled, said to be patient, that it would be _‘worth the wait’_, whatever that means. Regardless of his little quirks and oddities, the kid had had her back when she’d needed it – plus he had managed to get Murphy to shut his trap a few times – so he is alright in her book.

She gently tugs at Mack’s arms, dragging him along behind her as she scoots her way around the fire, stopping a hopefully non-threatening distance from Ten Thousand. The kid has pulled his gaze away from the flames to warily watch them as they approach. Comfortably leaning back into Mack’s chest once more, his arms now encircling her waist, she gives her young travelling companion a cheery smile. “I feel _so_ much safer knowing we have you watching out for us, dude.”

He doesn’t reply. And honestly? She hadn’t expected he would. Not right away, anyhow. Instead, Ten Thousand reaches for his bag, pulling it closer to himself. Sliding it between them. A small adjustment, a simple barrier. Defensive, but not hostile. She can work with that. If he feels more secure now, then surely, he’ll be more open to her questions.

Addy keeps her tone light. Curious but not demanding. “How long have you been travelling alone? Did you get separated from your group?” Mack’s arms tighten around her, a silent warning. She knows he’s not the biggest fan of the kid – says it’s too big of a risk to keep him around – but Addy is sure that pulling a knife on Murphy was a one off. Unintentional. She’d seen Ten Thousand’s eyes afterwards – it was like he couldn’t even tell where he was… And anyway, Murphy _is_ an insufferable ass, so someone was bound to do it sooner or later. “You know, if there’s somewhere you need to be, a place you think you might find them again, I’m sure Garnett will let us give you a lift. As long as it’s not too far out of our way.”

Throwing a quick glance over the fire – though towards who, it had been too quick for Addy to tell – the kid wraps his arms around himself, a hollow mimicry of her own comfort. A slow lick of his lips, then he finally meets her gaze. “Nowhere. There’s no one. Been alone since near the start.”

A pang of pain shoots through her chest. Has he really been on his own for all this time? For all these _years_? That kind of loneliness, of isolation… Addy knows she herself couldn’t have survived through that – the solitude would have gotten to her long before any Zs could. She wants nothing more than to reach out to this kid, to pull him into her arms and reassure him. That he’s safe now. That he doesn’t have to be alone anymore. That she’ll have his back, just like he had had hers. But she couldn’t, could she? Ten seemes rather touch averse, as Doc had found out the hard way back at the refinery. “Absolutely no one? For all this time?”

Loosening an arm, the kid reaches up into his scarf, fingers gently caressing the silk. Picking at the flecks of blood. His glance over the fire lingers longer this time. Long enough for Addy to see who he’s looking at. Long enough to note Murphy is staring back, worry etched across his face. Nice to know that that ass is capable of caring about something other than himself.

Finally turning back to Addy, Ten Thousand lets out a small sigh. “Some people. Small groups. Never lasted long, though. Had to leave.”

“Well, you won’t have to leave us any time soon. You’ll always have a place here, so you can stay as long as you want.” Addy’s words seem to startle the kid, even if he tries his best to hide it.

“Addy, no.” Mack’s breath burns against her neck, and she starts to pull away from him. “You can’t promise something like that. He’s practically a stranger. We don’t even know anything about him.”

“His name is Ten Thousand, and he _saved my life._ Then Cassandra’s. What else do we need to know?” Throwing her hands towards the campfire, she gestures vaguely in Murphy’s direction. The man is running his fingers through his hair, a vain attempt to work out the knots and neaten up that tattered mess. “Plus, I heard he can deal with _his_ bullshit. We would be idiots to just let you just waltz back off into the Apocalypse, Ten!”

Behind her, Mack scoffs under his breath. Her temperamental blond is bound to be in a sour mood for a day or two but, with a gentle smile twitching at the corners of Ten’s mouth, Addy decides that it will be worth it.

~*~*~

When the sun has set, the chill of the night air creeps in closer as the flames keeping it at bay begin to dwindle. Ten Thousand had silently watched as the people around him began to teasingly argue back and forth, negotiating who was to be on night watch, and which shift they had to take. No one wanted last watch, so he had finally spoken up and offered to take it. Garnett had jumped right on his suggestion, and their debate came to a close.

Early dawn suits Ten Thousand just fine: dark enough to still be obscured, yet with sufficient light to move swiftly if necessary. To avoid branches and roots. And not run headfirst into any trees.

Yeah, last watch is ideal.

Roles for the watch assigned, they begin to rise to their feet, to find somewhere to sleep for the night. Murphy eyes him defiantly on his way by, the scruffy man climbing into the truck bed and splaying out in the middle. Seems he likes his space. Not that Ten Thousand can blame him – the kid himself can never relax enough to drift off with strangers nearby. Which is why he favours trees: often only room for one, and he’s high enough up that that any wandering Zs won’t catch him unawares. He’d found a comfy looking tree while pacing the perimeter, too. Right on the edge of the clearing. Close enough by so as to not arouse suspicion, yet with adequate distance to allow him to get some rest.

Tonight, he’ll need all the rest he can get.

“Hey, kid. Could you give me a hand with this? Never could the hang of these knots.” Doc’s voice calls to Ten Thousand from below the tree he had selected to sleep in. Guess the kid will have to find somewhere else to sleep… The old man has tried to tie a rope between that tree and another, probably to drape a tarp over once taut. Makeshift tent. Not too bad an idea if you feel safe on the ground… “It always seems to slip in the night. Woken up with the sheet as an extra blanket more times than I’d like to admit!”

Sliding it between his fingers, Ten Thousand peers at the rope. Cheap nylon. Shiny surface. Not the highest quality but, as long as the tarp isn’t too heavy, it’s easy enough to work around. “Midshipman’s. Add an extra half hitch.”

A delighted hum leaves the old man, his eyes amused. “You say that like I should know what it is, kid! Been a while since my scouting days, you know, and I wasn’t exactly paying attention. About the only knot I can still do is a simple column tie and that unfortunately hasn’t come in very handy over the last few years, let me tell ya!”

Column tie? Ten Thousand hasn’t heard of that one. Not that it matters. His hitches have served him just fine, so he doubts he’ll need to know Doc’s knot. The Midshipman’s hitch is quick to build up and, with the ease at which he works, it’s no surprise that the old man watches him with fascination.

“Figured out where you’re sleeping for the night, yet?”

Ten Thousand’s hands twitch, but he played it off as adjusting the tension along the rope. His rifle is still by the fire, next to his pack. But the knife is in his pocket, where it always hides. Easy to conceal. Quiet, too. “Up a tree. Unless… There somewhere you want me to be?”

“Kid, listen. Think we’ve got some crossed wires here. With supper. The potatoes. I was just trying to look out for you, is all. I’m not wanting anything in return. None of us are.” The pleading tone of the old man’s voice sends a wave of shame through Ten Thousand. Shame that crawls into his stomach where it then sits, heavy and nauseating.

These are good people. He’s known that from the moment Doc had picked him up. Had asked his name. Good people who are risking their own lives to escort Murphy all the way to California. Navigating their way through the Apocalypse, fuelled only by their desires to help. Help people that they’ll likely never meet. And here _he_ is, sharing their campfire and eating their food. Is it wrong for him to have come back to them after helping them rescue Cassandra? He’d sat in the weeds, watching them. Waiting for them to leave him behind, like so many others had. But they had stayed. Waited. Even as they believed Tobias and his cult to still be an imminent threat.

So, when Doc had climbed up on top of the truck, started scanning the horizon, searching for him, Ten Thousand broke. He gave in. Went back to them.

And it had been Murphy that greeted him…

Ten Thousand is getting too close. He doesn’t belong here. With people like this. If any of them found what he’s really like – what he does to survive… “Not like I have anything of value.”

He doesn’t address the sadness that crawls its way across the old man’s face. The kid doesn’t need pity: pity cannot fill his stomach or take down a Z. Supplies are much more valuable. Without sparing Doc another glance, Ten Thousand slinks off along the treeline, looking for a new place to sleep.

Rest had come quickly, like it does most nights. Sleep is as precious a resource as food, water, or ammo. The kid would be fool to not snatch up any of it that he could.

“10k! Hey, Ten, you’re up.” Cassandra’s voice hisses at him from below, dragging him out of his dreamless sleep. He slides down from the branches with ease before following the girl towards the dim campfire. Taking a position close to the embers, Ten Thousand nods goodnight to Cassandra then stares out into the darkness.

But she doesn’t leave. Instead, Cassandra lowers herself down next to him, joining him in his vigilant observation of nothing.

“I know.”

It feels like his heart has stopped dead in his chest. Her eyes turn to him, burning their way into the side of face.

He cannot meet them.

“Addy told me you sided with her and Warren. Stood up to Garnett. So, when I saw those tins of potatoes – the ones you must have found in the compound… I knew what you’d done.” The hand that presses down onto his knee is too soft, too tender. It should be clawing at his skin, tearing him apart. Exposing what lays beneath. “Thank you, 10k. Knowing that he’s gone, that he can’t come after me anymore… I feel free.”

Cassandra shifts closer, pressing her forehead into his shoulder, slender arms slowly encircling his waist in a loose embrace. His eyes never leave the trees. “I’ve met people like you before. You’re not what you think you are… Monsters don’t save people.” As she pulls away, rising slowly to her feet, the kid finally meets her gaze. “I hope you’re still here when I wake.”

The truck door clicks closed behind Cassandra as she returns to her bed, the sound jolting through him, kickstarting his heart once more.

She knows.

She knows, and she doesn’t hate him. Fear him.

No, she’d _thanked_ him.

All the reactions he has been met with – the anger, the violence, having to flee for his life… Not once had he thought he could receive gratitude. These people really are… different. Trusting him enough to take a watch this soon? It’s like they know how they would have wormed their way into his head. Taken control of those darker parts of his mind. Remoulded them. And made him want to stay. To trust them in return.

It usually takes days of work, of sucking up and being the dogsbody, until the group he had infiltrated leaves him alone with this amount of supplies. Their ammo, their medicine, their food and water: it’s all right there for the taking. And with last watch lighting his escape, he would be miles away, bunkered down and out of sight before they awoke. Ten Thousand would know. Three years has given him a lot of practice.

And this time, he wouldn’t have to kill any of them before he left…

Nimble fingers loosening the laces, Ten Thousand pulls off his boots. Wearing them for extended periods is never a good idea. Trench foot is still a risk, though one that people don’t tend to consider. ‘_Prevention is better than cure_’, as Pa had liked to harp on at him. Best to air off his feet when he gets the chance. The kid splays his toes, watching as the bright pink fabric stretches around them. This pair of socks won’t last much longer. Which is a shame: the little black stars peppered across the fabric remind him of the long nights he’d spend gazing up at the sky. Pa would tell him the same stories that he’d told to Ma when they’d first met. Stories of the constellations, of heroes and gods and monsters…

With only one spare pair of socks left in his pack, Ten Thousand would have to be more vigilant in his search for replacements. Hopefully he’ll find some more just as colourful as these. It’s a small indulgence, and a habit he doesn’t mind allowing to continue. They are one of his few remaining specks of light in a world otherwise engulfed by darkness. And they’re easy enough to hide, too, so he wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention.

With his rifle draped across his lap, he closes his eyes and listens.

It’s quiet. Often the Apocalypse is too quiet. The birds and insects that formed the early morning chorus had fled shortly after the Zs arrived.

It’s quiet. But not too quiet. Reaching his ears are the gentle breaths and snores of his sleeping companions, comforting and familiar.

It’s quiet. But not too quiet. No. It’s peaceful.

For the first time in a long time, Tommy allows himself to just simply exist.

“Pink...?”

The gravelly voice makes 10k’s eyes snap open. Panicked, he could do nothing but stare up as Murphy towered over him.

“Don’t worry, Princess. Too early for this shit…” With an obnoxiously exaggerated yawn, the scruffy man rubs at his eyes as he turns, stumbling towards the treeline. “Need a piss…”

Dawn has come and gone, the sky above lifting to a calm blue. As the camp begins to awaken around him, 10k hastily shoves his feet back into his boots, tightly lacing them up as Addy and Mack join him by the waning fire. Throwing a few dry twigs into the embers, he sets about stoking the flames, ready to reheat last night’s leftovers.

“You are _way_ too active, there, dude. No one should be this cheery so early in the morning.” Addy shoots him a bemused smile as she piles up the bowls, helping him prepare breakfast.

He stares at her – a moment too long, judging by Mack’s creased eyebrows. “Used to get up before my Pa. Enjoyed it. Just listen to him snoring.” 10k hesitates before passing the cooking pot over to the redhead. “Forgotten what it was like.”

“Well, no one likes the morning watch. Garnett usually gets saddled with it, and I’m sure he’ll happily relinquish the burden over to you, believe me! It’s yours if you want it.”

“If you decide to stay, that is.” Mack doesn’t even look up from stirring what remains of the potato stew.

The rest of the group has joined them around the fire, watching him expectantly. Meeting Cassandra’s eye, he finds her hope to be infectious.

“Want to stay. If you’ll have me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for seeing Part 2 through to the end!  
How are you all finding it so far? Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> The next story should hopefully start next weekend, though there may be some delays as my IRL writing is about to start having deadlines...


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